Jump
by Middle-Earth Muggle
Summary: A one-shot inspired by a poem my friend wrote. What would happen if Voldemort got to certain people first, Ron made the wrong choice, and Hermione took a completely different path. Takes place in sixth year; disregards HBP.


**A one-shot inspired by a poem called _Jump _my friend wrote. The poem belongs to Shannon, or, TASTE-THE-FRIGGIN'-RAINBOW. The fic is basically what would happen if Voldemort got to certain people first, Ron made the wrong choice, and Hermione took a completely different path. Takes place in sixth year; disregards Half-Blood Prince.**

~?~

_"I'm sorry, Hermione. I just can't be with you anymore. It just doesn't feel right. I just- I mean- ugh. We're still friends, though, right?" _Hermione remembers that conversation last week, the one that squeezed her heart and made her feel sick to her stomach. It is the only thing that penetrates her mind, now numb with shock, the breakup mingling with what Dumbledore had just told her.

~?~

_"I am sorry to say that your parents are dead. They were killed last night in a battle with several Death Eaters, perhaps even Voldemort himself. Kingsley and Tonks were also killed trying to protect them." Dumbledore sat looking at her for a moment, his eyes grave, letting it sink in. Then he stood abruptly, tears in his own eyes, saying, "I will leave you now; give you some privacy, but remember, child," and here he looked her in the eye once more, continuing, "It is never over. This is not the end. Your friends will still be with you." And then he left, closing the door behind him._

_For a long while there was nothing but the sound of whirring silver instruments and Fawkes humming softly in the corner. Then the tea__rs came, flowing thick and fast. _

~?~

It's too much to deal with, too much too fast, and she leaves Dumbledore's office feeling strangely hollow inside. She walks aimlessly, barely noticing where she is going, letting the laughter and the talk of the other students wash over her. Turning a corner into a little-used hallway, she speeds up. The only sound is her sensible shoes clicking on the cold stone floor.

Click.

Click.

Click.

_"Oh, Ron. . ."_

Hermione stops dead still, her eyes wide. The very last person she wants to see right now- or ever. She turns to the left to see an unused classroom. She takes one, two, three steps forward, puts her hand on the doorknob, turns it slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, hears the lock _click_, opens it just a crack. . . and sees Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown snogging in the corner of the room. She slams the door shut, turns, and runs, tears pouring down her face.

Reaching the Common Room at last, her eyes finally dry, she heads straight to Harry and Ginny, who are running towards the portrait hole, holding their brooms. Hermione pastes a large, rather fake smile across her face and says loudly, "Hey, you guys. Can I talk to-"

She is cut off by Harry. "Sorry, Hermione, we're late for Quidditch practice-"

"-yeah, talk later-" Ginny says breathlessly, as the two of them clamber into the hallway and take off. Hermione stands there for a moment, stunned, before the fake smile slides from her face and she walks numbly up the stairs to her dorm.

~?~

Hunched over some parchment, her quill scratching furiously, Hermione lets the words flow onto the page. She's never been particularly good at poetry, but tonight it comes to her unbidden, a wave of letters that form themselves into words in the crevices of her numb mind.

_It's too much too fast._

_They're gone_

_Forever._

_Everyone. _

_And no one cares_

_No one wants to listen._

_You lie awake at night_

_Dreaming_

_Of a time when he still seemed to care_

_How you felt_

_When he looked at you_

_With those deep, cerulean orbs_

_He told you "We're a bond that's meant to last"_

_Yet there he is,_

_Attempting to return_

_The patched-up heap of paper-thin skin,_

_Once a heart._

_But he doesn't understand_

_It's already his_

_There's no turning back. . . _

_For you._

_If you take it, _

_It'll be an experiment_

_In an unknown laboratory_

_Scientists puzzled, _

_Uncertain why it's split_

_In two,_

_And breaks again_

_Every time he comes near,_

_And once more when he leaves._

_It's surprising he still doesn't see it,_

_How badly you want to die._

_Death calls to you,_

_Like the forlorn cresting of powerful waves,_

_Like the whispering of the legendary Serpent of Eden,_

_Forbidden_

_But you just have to lend an ear, _

_If only for a moment,_

_And suddenly you're swept up_

_With thoughts of_

_Blades_

_Guns_

_Nooses_

_Skyscrapers_

_Or a simple Avada Kedavra._

_Suddenly, you feel the urge_

_To just try it out._

_Like a drug, _

_It's impossibly dangerous,_

_Yet intoxicatingly tempting._

_Then, you just have to feel it._

_The smooth steel_

_The rounded barrel_

_The scratchy weaving_

_The rush of wind sweeping past you_

_A single flash of bright green light, _

_Of your toes hanging over nothingness._

_And then, before you know it,_

_You're testing it._

_Seeing if it_ really _hurts._

_Of course it does. _

_But then, you want more._

_You _need _more,_

_And it feels right._

_Tallying the amount of times you thought of him today,_

_Momentarily hanging, becoming familar_

_With the heaviness,_

_Falling, as if you were flying, nearly weightless,_

_You think of him one last time_

_Imagining the future you could've had_

_If only he'd not left_

_If only the others were still in this world._

_Then you end it._

_All that time that felt like__ weeks, _

_Like months, Like years, _

_Of misery_

_Of fake smiles _

_Of forced laughter_

_Of endless, "I'm fine"s_

_And "Don't worry about me"s_

_Your words battling your thoughts_

_And now the thought of more of that_

_The lying, the smile that's glued to your face._

_You're happy to leave, in all honesty_

_There's some you'd miss_

_But that's to be expected._

_The life you'd have in the end_

_Would be pathetic_

_If you had to go on_

_Like this._

_You raise the dagger_

_Secure the rope around your neck_

_Load the bullets_

_Step to the edge_

_Point the wand._

_Feeling the rush of tainted gusts rushing over you._

_Wind made up of memories,_

_Haunted words that echo,_

_Lonely._

It'll all be over, _you think_

_Just before the end._

_You plunge the blade into your breast, _

_Take the short hop to the hangman's jig_

_Pull the trigger_

_Say the words._

_Jump._

~?~

She stands on the balcony in her white nightdress, her thick brown hair blown back by a gentle breeze, a single leaf of parchment held in her outstretched hand. She slowly turns her hand over, letting her fingers open one by one. The parchment drifts down through the air: a single white butterfly that grows smaller and smaller before disappearing. She knows that it will hit the ground sometime, perhaps to be hidden in the long, wet grass, or trampled by students going about their merry way. She leans out over the rail, straining her eyes for a last glimpse of that one parchment that had made her final decision for her. Then she takes a deep breath and lets herself fall. The students in the Common Room below see only an indistinct shape falling through the air, the outline smeared and blurred by the thick glass of the West window.

Tumbling end over end, her hair whipping at her face, her nightgown flying out around her, Hermione Granger sees the star wheeling above her and smiles her last smile- a serene, peaceful smile- as she falls to her death.

_Jump._


End file.
